Fairytale of New York
by Latchmere
Summary: YAOI! RxS. Implied RxK. Riku is a writer, unable to complete, let alone begin his latest novel. That is, until he meets somebody disturbingly familiar.


**Fairytale of New York**

**Summary: **Riku is a writer, unable to complete, let alone begin his latest novel. That is, until he meets somebody disturbingly familiar. Mainly RxS implied RxK & RxY.

**Notes:** YAOI! Go away if you no likey. Inspired by the film Stranger than Fiction.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything 8D********************

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"You're sure that this is all right, right?" he asks as he stops, grip loosening on the bloating luggage, the question directed at the worn wooden door rather than the shivering body to his left.

A long, irritated sigh is what answers him, followed by the fumbling and clinging sound of keys, metal against metal against flesh, with a slight tinge of frost. A twist and a push, and the worn wooden door answers as well, opening wide and expectant: a starving mouth: the long hallway dark and empty, ready to swallow, with the carpeting coloured a very suitable pink.

He hesitates and steps back, only to be pushed forward by a cold, bony fist, right between his shoulder blades.

"All right! All right! I'm going, no need to be violent."

"Sorry for my impatience, but it is a little cold out here if you didn't notice. If you are evaluating your life choices, please do so inside."

He fights back a snigger, and in fear of a proper fist in the back, steps inside. With the darkness closing in as the door responds to a minute click and the body behind him pressing and pushing him to go into that small patch of light, it does feel a bit like being swallowed. The light leads to the kitchen, which is unusually bright in contrast to the dark hallway. The curtains are covered in dust and a hideous floral pattern, the odour they exude reminds Riku of his Great Aunt something-or-other. He crinkles his nose in distaste, drops his bags down on the floor and wonders if he'll be able to catch the 11 am train back to Pennsylvania.

"It's not spectacular, but it's home, right? And you're welcome to stay for as long as you like. It's no trouble, seeing that there's always a spare room when my mum comes and visits."

Riku nods, tapping his feet to the ground whilst continuing to glare at the obnoxious curtains, wishing he could set them alight with his mind. They stare right back at him, as if taunting him, and that's when he wants to simply rip them off their hooks, throw them into the filthy garbage _then_ set them alight. It would be no lost after all, they were a sight for sore eyes.

He sighs and tears his eyes away from that hideous floral pattern, looking instead at the girl beside him who is nothing at all like those curtains: small, thin and pretty, and still looking rather cold with the tip of her nose all pink and shiny. She stares at him, expectant, eyes wide beneath her blonde fringe, teeth nibbling at her chapped bottom lip. She's waiting for him to respond, and Riku can almost hear the '_Well? Am I right?'_that's on the tip of her tongue.

He puts on an unquestionably thoughtful expression. "Naminé, whoever made you buy those – " he waves his hand in the direction of the window, " – must have threatened your mother's well being, because there is no excuse for owning something so ugly. The sight of them makes me want to go back to Pennsylvania, find Kairi, apologize, ask her to marry me and have a dozen kids."

He can't help but laugh when Naminé's eyes become impossibly wide and almost glassy. The 'deer in headlights' look doesn't last long though and is instead replaced with furrowed eyebrows and a stern frown, "You're not going back. Not for at least a week." She sighs and brushes away her fringe with the tips of her fingers, "And those curtains _are_ my mother's, actually. And I suppose that her safety was at stake. My Buna wouldn't take 'no' as an answer when she forced them onto my mother, who then forced them onto me. Something traditional, heirloom and all that. We all inherit the ugly, it's inevitable."

"Your_ Bunnah_?"

"Grandmother. Old Romanian lady with a babushka and decidedly bad taste."

"Uh, right."

"Take a seat. You're not going anywhere. You'll get through this writer's block, I promise, and I will do anything in my power to inspire you."

She grins at Riku and abruptly pushes him into a chair, which squeaks unnervingly in protest.

Riku bites his lip, taps his foot lightly on the tiled floor and stares at Naminé who now sat across from him, staring right back expectantly. He's not sure as to what he's meant to do now. She already knows _everything_ and that's actually part of the problem, that is, if he stops to consider it for a moment. That moment being now, where the both of them were simply staring at each other. He tells her everything. Every little detail. Trusts her with his ideas, dreams, and problems too. And she listens. The quiet little girl with her sketch pad, drawing, but still intently listening to every little word he says, expecting nothing but friendship in return. Well, she's clearly expecting something now, but it's something that Riku can't even provide for himself.

He takes note of how round her eyes are: round and blue, and thickly lashes, _almost_ a reflection of his own, only hers are sharper, more defined and demanding.

"You do know that staring at me isn't really creating some sort of surge of uncontrollable brilliance."

"No?"

"Nah."

"Well, it was worth a shot."

She sighs. "What part are you stuck on, then?"

Riku considers the question, considers answering it properly but instead, finds himself unsure of the answer and back into that familiar bottomless, gloomy pit of uncertainty. More commonly known as a 'Writer's Block'. It seems as though getting out of this hole is near impossible. He'll claw at its ends until he's exhausted, but will only succeed in digging himself deeper and deeper, and now the entire plot has spun out of proportion, out of reach, he's just not sure of anything anymore. And thinking about it doesn't help either. Where was he going with it? There was surely some sort of climatic ending in store…he was sure of it.

"I don't know, I was planning to end it something short of that last Harry Potter book. Kill the main character off…the end. No sappy, 'they lived happily ever after' type of stuff. I just…was gonna kill the guy off. Only, I can't figure out how to do it. And if I don't know how to end it, I can't build up to it, and thus there is no story. I'm stuck with a character and no story."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Naminé doesn't seem to notice and only continues to look thoughtful, pondering his statement and trying to make something out of nothing. In other words, help out, like always. Riku smiled softly and fought an overwhelming urge to leap up and hug her, across the table and all.

"What's he like?"

Is he sure of anything today? He grimaces, buries his face in his hands and lets out a long, low whine.

"All right, all right. Calm down, it's okay. We can fix this. That's why you're here."

And by now, Riku feels as though she's some sort of therapist for him.

She reaches across the table and pats Riku's head softly as he peers at her through his fingers, exasperated and mentally exhausted.

"He's a bit naïve, I know that," Riku mumbles, "Courageous, but not in the traditional Hercules way. Friendly, clumsy, blue-eyes with spiked brown hair and –"

"All right, that's good, the only thing is, you're sounding like a dating service…"

Riku whines again.

"No-no! It's good, you're making progress, keep going."

Riku sighs and then sits back, gazing up at the ceiling, painted a pale yellow, but there are a few red blotches in various spots…stains? Or maybe it's more of those Romanian decorations. He wonders what kind of tenants this place housed before Naminé, and if those red blotches could be bloodstains. He shudders.

"It's hard to visualise this person. I mean, apart from thinking about some seriously stupid things." He pauses, continuing to conjure up reasons as to why there would be red stains on the ceiling. "I can't seem to think of anyone else but _her_."

"You have to do this. Forget that relationship crisis, for now at least. She _did_ want the break, didn't she?"

Riku nodded solemnly.

"Well, there you go. This should be good for you. Maybe it'll give you a chance to miss each other and all that romantic, sappy stuff."

"Mmmpft."

"Are you all right there? Anyways, go and explore New York. Go and find some inspiration while I get your room ready. I'll put all your things away."

"It's all right, I can put my things away myself, thanks – "

"Get out."

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New York feels cold and dry, his fingertips stinging despite being deep inside his coat pockets, cheeks a deep red, and nose running and sniffing on its own accord. Riku doesn't usually mind winter, especially when it means Christmas, snow angels, family and love. He actually likes the cold, most days, especially when he's inside, all wrapped up by the fireplace with some hot cocoa and his lover, watching the snow fall. He even likes the family Christmas dinner, regardless of the packed bodies, lack of any room, having to be shoulder to shoulder at the dinner table covered in snowflake patterns, glistening cutlery which would only be used on such occasions as Christmas, and plates with shiny snowman faces…He enjoys all that. All of it. And he'll miss it this year – miss his mother's teasing and questioning about the non-existent marriage proposal. He'll even miss the disturbing sex-talks his Grandmother would always start whenever Kairi accidentally stared in her direction a second too long. And he'll miss her most of all, Kairi, who's like white gold, lithe and fragile all wrapped up in a beauty that ethereal. Riku wishes he was there now, helping Kairi put up the Christmas decorations, calling his mum back to confirm that yes – yes he'll help out with the baking and the large grocery list. 

Only not this year. This year, his mum will have to go without him, because he was here, in the city that never sleeps, walking down an unfamiliar street and stuck with a story that won't write itself. "Ol' New York, what a brilliant place you are."

Riku stops with a sigh and shivers involuntarily; he's not sure where to go from here. Metaphorically, yes, but quite literally as well, for the sidewalk has broken off into several directions. Riku glances at each street, hesitating, as though this was a pivotal decision in his life. He chooses to go to the street closest to him, mostly because of the green sign at the edge of the road that reads '_Voila! Café!'_ in black italics, pointing towards the entrance. He's cold, and a warm cup of cocoa would probably help sooth the goose bumps and shivers.

He pulls his scarf up over his nose, rubs his hands together, and walks past the sign, turning into the café. The door lets out a high-pitched _ding_ that echoes throughout the small room and makes Riku sink deeper into his scarf, his eyes wide as he shuffles uncomfortably towards a round table. He takes a seat, makes even more noise when the chair squeaks and grinds against the tiled floors and then pulls out a small notepad and pen from his pocket. If inspiration suddenly hits, he'll be ready.

The café is strangely empty and silent. Riku taps the pen against the side of the table, wondering if he somehow missed the closed sign, and if he is, in fact, breaking and entering. He brings the pen up to his lips, ready to start chewing on the tip, which he really shouldn't be doing anyway, especially since he still had to walk back to Naminé's flat, and he'd much like to do so without the blue ink staining his mouth. He settles on setting the pen back on the table next to the notepad and instead, occupies himself by lightly tapping his foot against the floor. He scans the room. Empty as it was when he first entered. He really should get going, maybe catch a movie, surely that couldn't be closed –

"May I take your order?"

So maybe Riku was quite twitchy and tense, but jumping a foot in the air out of his seat just because some waiter decides to appear out of nowhere is still not acceptable. Embarrassing, yes, especially after he slumps back down into his seat, cheeks burning from humiliation, heart still racing, and fumbling with the café menu he was previously ignoring.

"Uhh…"

Very enlightening words from a person who graduated with a degree in English Literature.

Riku finally put himself together, straightening up, "Large hot cocoa, please."

He watches as the lithe, almost golden fingers, wrap around the top of the menu and gently pry it from his grasp. Riku slowly lets his head fall back, letting his gaze lift up, up, connecting the delicate hands with the rest of the body. The boy isn't looking back at Peter. He's looking down, hair spiked up, short bangs falling into his eyes, brushing up to frame the side of his face. Riku tilts his head and then clears his throat, hoping to catch the waiter's eyes.

It's as though everything is suddenly in slow motion. It feels like an indisputable moment, a moment that demands its significance, a moment that will etch itself into Riku's memory to be replayed constantly within his mind. Riku knows this, knows how important those sapphire-like eyes must be, staring at him, slightly clueless as to what revelation Riku had stumbled upon. And Riku doesn't specifically know this face, can't possibly break out into a story of this other person's entire life, but only knows that his eyes are so, so blue and bright, and his lips lovely and full, glossy and spit-slicked, and his hair, a mess of dark mountains, cradling and framing his face. Riku can't possibly know this person – it's the first rime they've met, isn't it? And yet he seems so familiar, like a dream or a forgotten childhood memory.

His head is buzzing, and he is merely staring at the boy – the waiter – who probably, by now, thinks that he is some sort of freak. But the boy – the waiter – only stares back, even tilting his head to the side in question to Riku's dumbfounded appearance.

"Uh…Mister, is that all?" The waiter finally asks, brows furrowed, eyes expressing some concern.

Riku nods slowly, still staring, unable to stop himself. He doesn't understand this, this _feeling_, doesn't know what to call it. Fascination, maybe? Like this boy is something so exotic, rare and valuable that Riku needs to hold onto him. Can't let him leave or he might lose him, might lose this feeling.

He opens his mouth before he can stop himself, "Wass'yer name?" A mess of words, like he's a child again, uncertain and stumbling over phrases while reading out love letters to his middle school sweetheart, Yuffie, beneath that old oak tree.

The waiter steps back and eyes him suspiciously, (as though Riku could do harm to himself and others in his oversized coat and tightly wound yellow scarf), and then breaks out into one of those movie-like, cheesy grins, managing to do so with a sparkle in his eyes, an honest smile. And Riku wonders how he's able to break out into grins like that so easily and makes a mental note to ask him later because Riku _wants_toget to know this boy inside and out, he has to and I assure you, he _will_.

"I'm Sora!" he says, pointing to himself, his grin only growing wider.

Riku eagerly extends his hand and captures Sora's, shaking it politely, "Riku. Nice to meet you."

"New here, Riku?"

And he knows that he may seem like a leech but he has to suppress a shiver as the words wash over him, almost caressing, a chorus of vowels and consonants that pass over his skin and under it, soothing the bumps and untangling the knots. He struggles with the answer, all the blood has left his brain, rushing to his cheeks.

"Uh, yeah, sort of, I guess. But I don't plan on staying too long, yeah, I'm just staying with a friend…" He stops and studies the amused expression gracing Sora's features. "This place isn't very busy."

It seemed that stating the obvious had become one of Riku's greatest icebreakers.

Sora chuckles slightly, "No, not when it's as early as now. Usually it's better around lunchtime."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

There is a heavy pause, an uncomfortable silence that makes Riku fidget under Sora's gaze, and Riku has a feeling that Sora is silently laughing at him with his eyes.

"I should get your cocoa."

Riku nods, mumbles a small 'thank you' as Sora walks away, (not forgetting to trip over a chair leg), Riku silently laughs, grabs his pen and starts writing words down, quickly realising that the sentences formed are merely a description of the blue-eyed boy. He stops and reads over his words. There is definitely a problem. He taps his pen again, tying to figure out why he feels so strange, why the words look so familiar, staring back at him accusingly.

Then the realisation hits him, hard, like a ton of bricks falling atop of his head, and he almost groans aloud. He's written this before. Every little word, including the 'a's and the 'the's. Described this boy in perfect detail and moulded his appearance with this very same pen. This boy's so familiar because Riku does know him, and not from a dream or a memory, but from his imagination.And Sora's an exact image of Riku's fictional character, blue eyes and all.

Riku feels nauseous.

And now here's his fictional character, drawn out in flesh and bones, walking across the room with his hot cocoa, still grinning as he carefully places the cup in front of Riku. He pulls up a chair, friendly, and looks down at Riku's notepad, then back up, sheepishly smiling.

"Sorry, but I didn't catch where you came from."

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**************************************************************************Author's notes: **So how was it? I hope it wasn't _that_ bad. Reviews would be nice though. :) I'm not sure if I should continue this...so, yeah. 8D 


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